


Freaks

by RinoaDestiny



Category: Garou: Mark of the Wolves, King of Fighters
Genre: Battle of the expies, Canon-Typical Violence, Darker side of Southtown, Emergent Claw Iori, Freeman's stage is awesome, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinoaDestiny/pseuds/RinoaDestiny
Summary: Iori encounters a particular resident of Second South shortly after losing his flames to Ash Crimson. (KoF-Garou crossover). *One-shot*
Kudos: 2





	Freaks

**Author's Note:**

> _Iori Yagami (KoF) and Freeman (Garou: MotW) belongs to SNK_
> 
> Also cross-posted on FFN.

Second South, as the residents of the new Southtown liked to call it, boasted itself as a vibrant city. A city that arose anew from destruction – a testament to the durability of its people and spirit. An all-American attitude: never let die and never say quit. Commendable, but like all cities, it hid a darker side.

People from the nicer part of Second South didn't like to talk about this seedier aspect of their beloved city. About this sinister underbelly that thrived in the shadows. The shady locales, the criminal elements – prostitution, drugs, and the mob – that lent it a ruthless undertone. Most ignored it, if only for safety's sake. Dissuaded others, particularly newcomers, from visiting the watering holes and brothels there. You took a risk going there – could get cut, robbed, or killed. If you still decided to go, however…

Iori Yagami – resident of Osaka, Japan – was such a person.

The nicer half of Second South was left behind. He knew about the shadier half – the half saner people avoided – but kept heading towards it. For Iori was angry and when he was angry, he looked for trouble. Solitude in danger. Danger to satiate his rage.

For that fucking French foppish bastard Crimson had stolen his treasure – _his magatama_ – and by doing so, stripped him of what belonged to him by birthright. He'd been forced to return to basics in reshaping and re-honing his fighting style and although it was cleaner – possibly stronger – he missed his flames. It was what made him parallel to Kyo Kusanagi and without that, there was a lack. The other fighters teased him about it, which made its theft by Crimson more unforgivable. No one teased or mocked him. Not being able to reclaim his treasure as soon as he liked also pissed him off – drove him to the edge of rage and often, over it.

This was one of those times.

The glimmering lights behind him, Iori stalked ahead, crossing over the invisible yet definable border between 'safe' and 'unsafe' Southtown and continued. The buildings here were run-down: brick water-stained and crumbling and gutters rusted. Graffiti spray-painted over the exterior walls, a garish welcome in American street lingo with bright colors and bold black borders. Iori grunted and continued his angry stride down the street. Ignored the sidewalks and street corners with its pimps and whores – the former wearing too much; the latter wearing too little.

One of the women called out to him. Iori whipped around, glaring.

Was the stupid broad propositioning him?

Her pimp said something in a sharp tone to her. The woman, dressed in a leather miniskirt and low top, closed her mouth and stepped back, subdued.

Iori turned around, clenched his fists and strode deeper into the decrepit city.

Deeper and deeper into the underbelly he went – into the darkest, grimiest stretch of Second South. He was the only person here, for the streets were empty and silent. That was fine. He preferred it this way.

The only sounds were his footfalls, his breathing, and the nearby rumbling of an active train line. Raising his head, Iori glimpsed the tall steel columns, the overhead train track, and the section of city beyond this point. Night coalesced in the expanse beneath the track that wasn't lit by lights on its underside. Past that, he spotted more buildings, walls illuminated by an unknown source, and refuse on the street. As he approached, there was also a wrecked car with smashed windows and a lone tire beside it.

By now, any average person would've turned around and left.

Iori pressed on.

A heavy stench of decay and rust – overwhelming – filled the area. Glass shards crunched beneath his shoes. Halfway under the track, Iori stopped, sensing something amiss. Someone was here. Despite the street being empty, he wasn't alone. He knew – just didn't know where they were hiding.

Not that he was afraid. Iori Yagami was never afraid.

A sudden movement in the periphery of his vision from right to left. Rumbling above, bands of bright light thrown against the wall on the building opposite him. A sound – not quite human, not inhuman either – close by. Iori shifted, guided by his instincts, sliding one foot back while his arm extended for block. A flicker – _a shadow?_ – and his sleeve parted, a piece of it falling to the ground.

Warm wetness trickled down his bared forearm, seeping into the remains of his sleeve.

First blood and the strike landed wasn't his.

Also…that blow felt familiar. Odd.

His assailant slinked closer, a casual fluidity that threw Iori into full alertness. The man – musculature on full display – was taller than him and leaner. With his bared midriff and striped white pants, he was a combination of his and Nikaido's fashion. Distasteful. Iori circled counter opposite the other man, keeping his distance as he observed his stealthy opponent. Orange hair fell in a long curtain, obscuring the other's face; yet, it appeared he could see. A constant tremor shuddered through the man's slender frame, as though something threatened to break through flesh and bone.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Heehee," the other cackled, voice borderline scream. "Such…such a great night to die."

Freak. Every city seemed to have one.

"Play…play with me."

Iori blinked and then arched back, snapping his head aside. Air dislodged past his head, the other's kick missing him by mere centimeters. His hair hadn't even finished settling when he backpedaled, foot striking a metal can behind him. It rolled, the sound loud, then dwindling into the distance. Behind him was the beaten-down car. He was not getting trapped against that.

"Sssss…." Silibant like a snake. Predator. He was not prey. "Plaaaay…"

Rattling of steel tracks above. Flickering light.

Did Southtown run its trains that often? It seemed…excessive.

"Heeeeehhaaaaaaaaahhh!"

Iori kicked back, seeking a quick retreat but his opponent rushed in, closing the distance faster than he expected. Only a deft shift to the right, footwork fast, avoided his narrow fate of being pinned against the car. Metal shuddered, divided, fell clattering to asphalt. Following it was the tinkling of shattered glass.

"Heeehhaaaaaaa!"

Gouges in steel – three distinct tracks at least an inch deep. It confirmed the oddity he'd noticed at the beginning.

It wasn't the Yasakani martial arts. This freak wasn't from his bloodline, his clan. Yet…the similarity to their ancient fighting style was uncanny. Was it mere coincidence?

"Stop running. Come…"

The other man rushed him.

Iori met him, arm snapping upward. Blood flew. Spattered against metal, glass, asphalt.

His assailant regained his balance, lowered his head, and charged.

"Ahhahahahahah!"

Fucking deranged lunatic. Iori backpedaled again, but didn't have enough distance to clear himself. The other's arcing kick caught him across the chest, ripping cloth, flesh, and muscle. Flung backward, he landed hard on asphalt, scraping his forearm up to the elbow. Adrenaline masked pain; he rolled, scrambling to his feet. Liquid heat spilled down his chest. It hurt, somewhat, when he moved. He needed to end this fight quick before the wound stiffened.

The other had been locking him down in defensive the whole time.

Time to reverse that.

"Just who the hell are you?" he snarled, warily watching the taller man.

A second time. Who _was_ his opponent?

"Ahhhh! Free…freeeeeee – !"

_The hell?_

"Freeeeemaaaaannn!"

With an unearthly shriek, Freeman lunged. Iori sidestepped, turning his center away from the madman. Freeman's back was exposed; Iori lashed out, a direct double strike slashing the air and connecting with flesh and bone. Dark wetness splattered around him. His fingers were coated thick with blood. A heavy acrid metallic tang lingered in the air, mingling with the odors of rot and rust.

The other man whirled, counterattacking.

Iori threw his block up, catching the brutal blow straight on his undamaged forearm. It pared his arm down to the bone, shredding his sleeve. Lightheadedness followed – a brief second – as the sudden blood loss drained him. Stumbling back, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Saw the other advancing, a looming menacing figure.

He gritted his teeth.

Either this Freeman guy was on drugs or he was completely devoid of feeling.

The latter seemed more accurate.

_Found the one guy who's more of a freak than me. What are the odds?_

He had to turn this around. Freeman went low, trying to knock his feet out from under him. Iori jumped, interlocked his hands together, and smashed them like a club upon Freeman's skull, staggering the other man. Closed the distance, reached out, going for a grab and throw.

Missed.

_What the hell?_

The other's fingers digging hard into his scalp – _what?_ – as Freeman vaulted over him, right behind his back. Three successive strikes carved him open, splitting muscle, gouges raking deep. One of the gashes missed his spine, slicing upward instead towards his shoulder. Iori staggered forward, trying not to trip over his feet. Pain, white-hot like goddamn thunderbolts along his skin. Burning inside his wounds.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His blood painting the ground. Turning the black asphalt red.

A low rumbling laugh behind him. "Ahahahaha. So much…so much fun!"

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Iori closed his eyes. Clenched his jaw. Muscles stiffening.

He turned around, glaring, already rushing ahead as fast as he could force his injured body to. Freeman stepped back, gauging him. Blood on the other's hands, dark in the shadows he veiled himself in. Iori lunged, all nerves afire with agony in his back. Lunged and watched as Freeman startled, body language betraying his surprise.

His turn.

One strike across. The second slashing the other direction. The third slashing skyward, snapping Freeman's head up, launching him. Despite the pain, despite his draining strength, Iori threw his head back, howling and unleashed the ultimate Yasakani technique.

The Yatagarasu.

The three-legged crow or the three claw attack. A bloody decisive finisher.

Usually, he hated violence but he never questioned the dichotomy. Didn't now, not with his life on the line. Crimson obscured his vision, his claws sunk deep into Freeman's airborne body and tore through like so much raw meat. Thick squelching, a sickening liquid splattering, spray reaching as far as the steel columns. Flickering bands of light, rumbling overhead, and the train passed, leaving them again in dimly lit darkness.

His bloodlust died off, fading as his strength threatened to give out on him.

Iori stepped forward, taking a look at his gruesome handiwork. Orange hair spread out, haloing the bastard's head – face still covered – mirroring the growing pool of blood beneath the other's lanky frame. Scarlet darkening, almost black, and yet, somehow, the freak was still alive. Impossible, but the thin thread of maniacal laughter hung in the air between him and Freeman, who cackled.

"So fun. So so so so fun…"

Iori stared at him, took a step back, turned on his heel and walked out of there. Headed for the building with the strange light source illuminating its brick exterior. Passed a bent traffic sign. His body was sore, was stiffening. He needed stitches, needed painkillers. This was going to hurt terribly later.

He also needed to improve on his technique. Needed more practice.

He stopped. Turned around. Froze.

Freeman was no longer in sight. Had been lying there before. Should be dead, but…

Where was he?

A shiver ran down his spine. Iori decided not to wait around to find out. Instead, he left, clutching his wounded arm. If anyone asked where he went, he wasn't giving any details. Let them find out, if they were daredevils or death seekers. If Freeman was still alive, still roaming…

Second South could have him.

Iori didn't look back again.

**Author's Note:**

> With Freeman from Garou: Mark of the Wolves being an expy of Iori Yagami from King of Fighters, only for Claw/Flameless Iori to be an expy of Freeman in KoFXIII, this crossover of the two characters from the two separate series had been on my mind for a while now. Their fighting styles are similar and so I wondered what a confrontation or fight between the two would be like.
> 
> Claw Iori is definitely faster in KoFXIII with more moves compared to Freeman in Garou: MotW, but I decided to make the fight less of a curbstomp since I wanted to get more out of each fighter. Both fighters were able to pull off their supers against each other, for one. Getting the mental fight choreography also took some thinking. I did study their combo videos and sprite sheets before and during writing this. Hopefully, this works.


End file.
